


Black Velvet

by GwendolynGrace



Series: Blackstory [1]
Category: Alternity - A Harry Potter Alternate Universe, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter Alternity - Fandom
Genre: Blackstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, HP Alternity, RPG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walburga discovers - and destroys - Sirius's talent for singing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Written 2008-2010. This is one of a series of "Blackstory" - backstory about the Blacks - that I wrote while playing in the RPG, HP Alternity. The actions of the characters as depicted were approved by the other players at the time it was written. Because these stories also occur prior to our point of divergence, they can be considered canon-compliant.

1964

 

Sirius pressed his ear to the door. Inside the sitting room, he could hear Mr Thatcher and Miss Wilkinson talking with Mother. Tattling, probably, on him and Reg during their lessons.

'What are you doing?' a high voice behind him asked, making him jump almost out of his skin.

'Shhhh!' he hissed at his brother. 'Listening.'

Regulus looked at him, wide-eyed. 'Not supposed to listen at keyholes, Kreacher says,' he pronounced.

'They're talking about us,' Sirius revealed. Suddenly, Regulus' head was next to his own, bent in concentration so that his hair was almost under Sirius' nose.

'Move over,' Sirius muttered, pushing Regulus aside.

'I want to hear, too,' Regulus whined.

'Then be quiet,' Sirius warned.

'Are you quite certain?' they heard Mother say, muffled by the closed pocket doors of the formal sitting room.

'Yes, of course,' Miss Wilkinson said. 'It's most remarkable. I'm sure Mr Thatcher agrees that he has quite a gift.'

'Indeed, ma'am, one that ought to be cultivated now, before he outgrows his prodigious ability.' That was Mr Thatcher, sounding gravely and Northern.

Mother didn't answer right away. 'My son is not some trained Augurey, nor is he like to become a drawing room novelty, Thatcher,' came the icy reply.

Both tutors began speaking at the same time. 'No, indeed, Mrs Black, no one would suggest--'

'There is every reason in the world to encourage him, Mrs Black, that doesn't automatically mean--'

'I'm sure you're aware that Mr Black and I fully expect our heir to pursue a dignified occupation,' Mother continued, cutting them off. 'Now. I have no wish to hear more about his musical capability. Let us focus on his magical aptitude and his capacity for higher thought.'

Sirius could just imagine the pale looks on his tutors' faces. He barely heard their muttered acknowlegement.

Miss Wilkinson spoke up first. 'What of Regulus' artistic talents, madam?'

'What of it? He may draw if he likes; it is quiet enough and no one will expect him to perform like a common ape. Still, again, I should not like you to think we will sanction any special curriculum, or any expense, for its - what was the word you used, Thatcher? - _cultivation_.' The word dripped with acid. 'May we return to the subject of their real education?'

Regulus backed away from the door. 'I don't want to listen anymore,' he said, shaking his head solemnly. He retreated up the stairs.

Sirius remained long enough to hear that they both needed work in maths, that Sirius' reading was far above average and Reg's nearly as advanced as Sirius', and that they both had talent for languages. When he heard them stand up, he pelted upstairs to avoid being caught.

~*~

'Sirius, come here,' Mother called later that day, after sending Kreacher to fetch him. Father wasn't home, so Sirius knew that she wasn't going to lecture him about his maths. That would happen with Father there, too.

But that meant he wasn't at all sure what it _was_ about. Still, he stepped inside her salon eagerly. 'Yes, Mother?'

She wasn't at her writing desk, but seated on the settle. Before speaking, she inspected him, running expert eyes over his robes, his face. Sirius shifted nervously, but then she smiled and patted the cushion next to her. 'Come and sit, Sirius,' she invited.

Sirius happily moved forward and pulled himself onto the seat. Mother circled a loose arm around him. He leaned against her, breathing in her powdery scent. 'Tell me, Sirius: What do you want for your birthday this year?'

The question was completely unanticipated, as his birthday wasn't until just before Christmas, and it wasn't even Halloween yet. He wrinkled his nose. 'A broom, Mother,' he said right away.

'Sirius, you will be six; it's too early for a broom. Besides, you cannot fly it outside the garden and inside the garden there is not enough room. Is that all you want?'

Sirius thought. He had seen a boy in the neighbourhood, an older one, with a shiny jacket. It had snaps and zips and pockets. He could put all his treasures in the pockets and Regulus would never find them. But the boy was a Muggle and the clothes, while mysterious and thrilling, were forbidden. But there were lots of other things.... 'A dog?'

Her sharp intake of breath, through her teeth, was all he needed to know. 'I do not think that wise, Sirius. What else?'

'A wand.' He knew this would be a no - Father had told him only a week ago that he would not get his own wand until he turned ten, at the earliest. But he also knew that after a third refusal, Mother would be more likely to say 'Yes' to his other requests.

Sure enough, she denied the wand as well.

'Could we go to a Quidditch match?' he tried next.

'Not in December, but perhaps. Anything else?'

'My own owl, Mother. GranIrma says there's an owlet that's almost ready to be given away.'

Mother chuckled. 'Well, that would be from GranIrma and Grandfather Pollux. What would you think of music lessons?'

Sirius' brow furrowed. The conversation he'd overheard came back to him. 'That's not a _present_ , Mummy,' he said skeptically.

It made her laugh and she squeezed him, rocking a little. 'You're quite right. But you like to sing, is that so?'

Sirius shrugged. 'I guess.'

'Miss Wilkinson says you're a good singer.'

Sirius had no idea what the proper answer would be. He said nothing.

'Would you like to sing something for me?' Mother asked, sweet as treacle.

Young as he was, Sirius could tell the question held a trap. If he said 'No,' Mother would think he was disobedient. But if he said 'Yes,' then he risked showing eagerness for something she had disdained.

'If you want me to, Mummy,' he answered, instinctively finding the safer third option.

Mother nodded, squeezing him again. She nudged him off the settle and positioned him in front of her. 'Has Miss Wilkinson taught you _The Wizards' Well_?'

Sirius bit his lips. He nodded solemnly.

'I cannot hear you, Sirius,' Mother reminded him.

'Yes, she did, Mummy.'

'Good. You may begin.'

Sirius thought for a moment, trying to remember how it went. Then, drawing a brave breath, he found the first note.

_'Down in the forest's grassy dell,_  
_Derry, derry, derry-derry down_  
_The wizards gather at the well,_  
_With a hey, ho derry down._

_First one wizard came along,_  
_Derry, derry, derry-derry down_  
_And cast a charm at morning song,_  
_With a hey, ho derry down._

_Two more wizards did arrive,_  
_Derry, derry, derry-derry down,_  
_Duelling for to stay alive_  
_With a hey, ho derry down._

_Witches came, in number three,_  
_Derry, derry, derry-derry down,_  
_Brewing potions merrily_  
_With a hey, ho derry down._

_Warlocks four were next to come,_  
_Derry, derry, derry-derry down_  
_With wands and swords and marching drums,_  
_With a hey, ho derry down.'_

He sang without really thinking about it. Once he started, it was easy to find the notes. His voice was high and clear in the little room and he wondered why he'd ever been frightened when she asked him at first. Mother was smiling slightly, her head nodding each time he added another number to the old counting song. When he got to five, she held up her hand.

'Yes, all right, Sirius, enough.'

'Did I do something wrong, Mother?' Sirius asked anxiously.

Mother didn't answer right away. 'Why do you think that, my dear?'

Sirius wanted to take it back. He couldn't explain without saying he knew she had told Miss Wilkinson and Mr Thatcher that she didn't approve. But to do so would reveal that he had been listening at keyholes, and that, he knew, would be a grave mistake. Instead he studied his feet and tapped a toe nervously.

'Stop fidgeting,' she reminded him.

'Yes, Mother. Are we.... Do you want me to sing more?'

One stolen look into her eyes told him she didn't care if he ever sang another note. He swallowed, tongue scratchy in a mouth suddenly gone dry.

'No, it's almost time for tea. Go upstairs and tell Regulus, see that you both wash your hands, and return.'

'Yes, Mother,' Sirius said. He hoped that he hadn't upset her somehow and that he wouldn't just wind up in trouble later.

~*~

That night, Sirius awoke to the jostling of the mattress. Regulus was climbing in next to him.

'Bad dream?' he muttered sleepily.

He felt Regulus nod. 'Can't hear you,' Sirius said, automatically, echoing Mother's insistence on verbal replies.

'Yes,' Reg answered. He burrowed in toward Sirius' shoulder.

'Wuwuzzit?' Sirius asked.

Reg made a noise in his throat, almost a whine. 'Banshee,' he whispered. 'Lullaby?' he requested.

Sirius started humming softly the first tune that came to his mind. But he quavered, thinking of Mother's pained expression. He stopped.

'S'wrong?'

'Mr Thatcher and Miss Wilkinson, you know how they said I'm a good singer?'

'Yeah,' Regulus said, interested, but already falling asleep now.

'I think they were lying.'

That woke him. 'Why?'

'Because Mother asked me to, but she didn't like it at all. She tried to make it seem like she did, but she doesn't.'

'Oh.' Regulus stretched and repositioned himself against his brother's back. 'Maybe she just didn't like the song you picked?'

'She picked it, though.' Sirius sighed. 'Anyway, I don't feel like lullabies.'

Reg sighed, though without rancor. He sounded content enough just to be in the room, where for some reason banshees couldn't find him. It was Reg-logic that escaped Sirius, but if it kept him from screaming all night, Sirius wasn't going to make an issue out of it. He did wonder sometimes if Reg would still want to share a bed when they were ten, or even twenty (he fervently hoped not). He thought maybe he was falling asleep just from the way his breath had evened out, soft on his neck. But then: 'Do you want to play questions?' Regulus asked.

'Why would you think I want to play questions?' Sirius said. He was glad that he was facing away and Reg couldn't see him grin.

'I dunno, I just thought--'

'Statement. One point to me. Really, Reg, how dumb are you?'

'How dumb do you think I am?' Reg asked after an almost-false start.

'How long have you got for me to tell you?' Sirius fired back.

'Don't we have all night?' Regulus asked.

'Oh, so you _do_ know how long it would take?'

Regulus glowered. 'Don't you know that's how long it takes you to do anything?' He giggled, apparently convinced that he had wriggled out of the corner into which he'd backed himself.

'Well, aren't we going to go to sleep?' Sirius asked through a yawn, changing the subject.

'Do you want to?'

'Aren't you tired?'

'Why, are you?'

'What happens in the morning when we don't wake up for lessons?'

'Do you think Mother will be cross?'

'Does Kreacher smell?'

Regulus took a moment to consider. 'What's that got to do with anything?'

'What do you think?'

'Is that supposed to be funny?'

'Am I laughing?'

'Sirius?'

'Hm?'

'Not a word!' Regulus crowed. 'Point to me!'

'It was in the form of a question, no point,' Sirius insisted. 'What's your question?'

Reg let out a 'Hmph' of disappointment. 'Are we still playing?'

'Why wouldn't we be?'

'How long do you think we can keep doing this?'

Sirius grinned. 'Want to find out?'

'Yes!' Regulus forgot himself and spoke loudly.

'Shhh. And point to me. Where were we?'

There was a pause. Then: 'Can we be like this forever?'

'Like what?'

'Like.... Don't you know what I mean?' Regulus avoided another point.

'How should I know?' Sirius replied with a shrug.

'Well, what do you think?'

'Hah - repetition. Point for me!' Sirius laughed.

'You know I hate you, right?' Regulus said very indignantly.

'Is that why you're here all the time?' Sirius countered.

Regulus didn't answer, or ask another question. He just snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around Sirius.

'Hey,' Sirius whispered a few minutes later, when Regulus still hadn't responded. 'Are you still awake?'

Regulus snuffled a little, squeezed Sirius' torso, and kicked once before settling back down.

Sirius smiled. 'Nope. Point for me.'

~*~

By mid-afternoon the next day, they had to modify the rules a little: direct answers to anyone else were allowed, and nothing said during lessons counted toward the game. But then Mr Thatcher left for the day and Father came home, and it was time for supper.

'Will you pass the potatoes?' Regulus asked Sirius.

'"Please,"' Mother corrected automatically, 'and address your brother by name, Regulus.'

Sirius, who had been halfway to the potato dish, paused. He grinned wolfishly at Reg, eyes widening in amusement.

Regulus jutted out his chin. 'Will you please pass the potatoes, Sirius?' he repeated, adding Mother's specifications.

Sirius picked up the bowl with both hands and set it down next to his brother. 'Repetition. Point for me,' he said under his breath.

Regulus was ready with his objection. 'No, I had to, Mother said. No point,' he insisted.

Sirius shook his head.

'What are you two talking about?' Father asked, looking amused.

'We're playing questions, Father,' Sirius explained. 'Reg repeated. That's my point.'

'Regulus did what was proper--' Mother began.

'Hm. What's the score?' Father asked. He winked at Mother, despite her scowl. It always impressed Sirius, how Father could laugh at Mother and not be afraid of her.

'Fourteen to five, sir,' Sirius said proudly. There was no doubt whose was the fourteen and whose the five. He wondered what they'd do when they got higher than Reg could count.

Father chuckled. 'I think you can afford to concede the point, son,' he said.

Reg opened his mouth to show Sirius his half-chewed potatoes. 'Nyah,' he gloated.

'Statement,' Sirius pronounced. 'Point to me.'

Father laughed.

'Regulus, eat with your mouth closed!' Mother ordered.

Sirius and Father both laughed.

~*~

1969

 

There were many games of questions over the next few years. Sometimes Sirius won; sometimes Regulus did. They often lost track of the points and called a draw when more important issues arose.

Such as the time, when Sirius was ten, when Mother called him downstairs. She led him into the parlour, where Father was sitting in the best chair, by the fire. The habitual crystal tumbler of amber liquid sat on the table beside him.

Mother's fingers circled Sirius' wrist loosely to pull him in front of Father.

'Well, Sirius. Your mother tells me an interesting thing. Your tutors continue to praise your voice.'

'Sir?' Sirius said in confusion.

'Music, Sirius,' Father clarified. 'Apparently you can sing, is that so?'

Sirius stole a look at Mother. She had her arms crossed. 'This is unnecessary, Orion,' she said to Father over his head.

'Now, Walburga, nothing wrong with a love for music. Besides, it could be diverting.'

'He is not a trained bird,' Mother replied. 'Besides, I told you, I've heard the boy. He has no particular ability; it is only that Thatcher trying to increase his pay in thanks for discovering a "prodigy."'

'Perhaps,' Father mused. He took a sip from his drink. Once, he had let Sirius taste the stuff; it had tingled on his tongue and made him cough with the burn in his throat. He wasn't sure why Father thought it was so good that he drank a glass almost every night. 'But I'd like to hear for myself, my love.' He smiled at Sirius. 'Well? Sing something. Let's hear it.'

Sirius swallowed nervously. He tried not to look at Mother, who sniffed deprecatingly. Father watched him, one eyebrow rising in expectation. At last, Sirius cleared his throat and began an old ballad.

_'When Richard was in Germany,_  
_Prince John ruled in his stead,_  
_And Robin to the green did go_  
_With price upon his head-o_  
_With price upon his head.'_

He could tell right off that his voice was reedy, the sound seeming to stick in his throat. It cracked and he faltered, clearing his throat again.

'See, Orion? He cannot warble a note. You may as well desist, Sirius, there's no need to further shame yourself for your Father's amusement,' Mother said.

Sirius bit his lip, waiting for Father's judgement. Father was looking at Mother, his expression hard to read. Was his disappointment with her, or with Sirius for failing?

'Perhaps you are right, my dear,' he admitted, taking another sip of his drink. 'Go on, Sirius, upstairs. Get Regulus and meet me in my study in ten minutes.'

Sirius retreated before Father could change his mind. He felt like his throat was on fire, like he couldn't breathe properly. What was wrong? He'd sung _Robin and the Warlock_ dozens of times. Sometimes Reg even sang along, taking the part of Robin to Sirius' warlock. But under Mother's baleful eye, he couldn't bring himself to make a decent sound.

He climbed the stairs to their bedrooms and rapped on Regulus' door.

'Wands?' Regulus called through the closed portal.

'Ten minutes,' Sirius replied. He went into his own room and looked in the mirror.

_'When Richard was in Germany,_  
_Prince John ruled in his stead,_  
_And Robin to the green did go_  
_With price upon his head-o,_  
_With price upon his head.'_

He had no trouble now. It must have just been because he knew Mother was so opposed to the idea, though why she felt so strongly he had no idea.

_'One day a warlock powerful_  
_Went riding in the wood,_  
_And there in Sherwood forest green_  
_He met bold Robin Hood-o,_  
_He met bold--'_

'What are you doing?' Reg asked behind him.

Sirius yelped and turned guiltily. 'Nothing,' he stammered.

Regulus' face went from puzzlement to a slow smile. 'Are you practising in the mirror?' he guessed. 'Going to join The Warlocks?'

'Shut it, Goblin,' Sirius muttered. 'I wasn't practising, I was--' He paused. Well, he was practising, more or less, but not the way Regulus meant. 'Father wanted to hear me, earlier, but I couldn't make it sound right,' he explained.

'Why not?'

'Mother was scowling,' Sirius confided. 'I was just checking to make sure. It's not so bad when she's not listening.'

Regulus nodded. 'I get nervous when she tells me to show her my penmanship,' he said with sympathy. 'Yesterday I forgot the proper way to make a capital zed. The quill dripped.'

'Why did you have to make a capital zed?' Sirius asked.

'Invitations,' Regulus said. 'She wanted me to copy out the addresses. One of the witches was named Zelda Hanover.'

'Invitations to what?'

Regulus shrugged. 'Probably a garden party or something. Maybe. Anyway, you know that's what she does. Tries to rattle you so you learn to push forward despite distractions.'

Sirius had been treated to the same lecture on more than one occasion; he recognised the quote. 'I know. Doesn't make it easier.'

'Yeah.' Regulus sighed. 'Has it been ten minutes?'

Sirius clapped his hand to his mouth. 'Merlin, probably. Race you?' he offered, not waiting before bolting out the door.

~*~

They discovered a few months later that the 'invitations' were for a reception Mother was planning for a sub-committee of the Witches' Institute. As the day approached, Mother told Regulus to draw little unicorns, wyverns and dragons on the place cards. She also told Sirius to learn _The Song of Hildebrand_ so that he could perform it for the guests. They had to wear their best robes, but they had no lessons that afternoon.

'But you said Mother didn't want you singing in front of people,' Regulus objected when he found Sirius reading the lyrics over to himself. 'Why did she change her mind?'

'I dunno,' Sirius admitted. 'But I wish I didn't have to do it. At least you get to draw on the cards before everyone gets there.'

'Why does Mother even care?'

'Because it's the Committee for Standards and Practices. I heard her telling Aunt Druella that she doesn't really want to be chairwitch herself, but she'll be hexed before she'll let them just hand it over to a blood-traitor like Patricia Thompson.'

'Oh,' Regulus said, with a nod as though Mother's efforts suddenly made sense. 'But I still don't understand why she thinks your singing is going to impress them.'

'Cheers.'

'Anytime.'

'Pillock.'

'Prat.'

'Wanker.'

'Poncer.'

'Squib.'

'Am not!' Regulus protested.

'Hah!' Sirius crowed triumphantly. 'You lose.'

'You still have to go down there and sing.'

Sirius blanched. Just the thought of having to watch Mother's tight smile, the one that she got when she was pretending to like something, made his stomach turn. 'No, I'm not.'

'What do you mean?'

'I can't. Go down and tell Mother I can't do it.'

'Why me?'

'Because if I go down, she'll make me try. Go tell her....' Inspiration struck and he put his hand on Reg's shoulder. 'Tell her I've just been sick and I can't come down. She'll probably send you back up and tell us both to stay out of the way. Won't want us getting any of her people ill, will she?'

'That's brilliant,' Regulus said with admiration. 'But let's have Kreacher do it.'

'Even better,' Sirius said approvingly. 'There's hope for you yet.'

~*~

Kreacher wasn't happy about lying, but for some reason he would do whatever Regulus asked him to do. He returned a few minutes later with the instruction that both boys were to change out of their dress robes and go directly to bed. He would bring them broth later, if they were feeling up to it.

'Thanks, Kreacher. We're hungry now, though. Would you bring us up some of the tea sandwiches?' Regulus asked.

'If the young master is ill, broth is better than sandwiches,' the elf hedged.

'But we're _not_ really ill, Kreacher. We _want_ sandwiches,' Regulus whined.

'Kreacher will fetch them,' the elf said, sighing.

'And scones and cream?' Regulus added.

'Kreacher will bring them,' he capitulated. He popped out of view.

Sirius had already pulled his robes off and was buttoning the shirt of his pyjamas. 'Go change,' he told his brother. By the time Regulus came back, a tray appeared laden with full tea, including a small pot of chocolate. They sat on Sirius' bed with the tray hovering between them.

'We didn't even ask him for it,' Regulus said with amazement. 'He's the best elf ever.'

'To _you_ ,' Sirius said darkly. 'But yeah, this is perfect. And no witches to pinch our cheeks or make us perform like trained monkeys for them.'

'Yes,' Regulus agreed. He picked up a sandwich and bit into it hungrily. 'Sirius?' he asked, mouth full.

'What?' Sirius selected a scone and began to swath it in clotted cream.

'Will you promise something?'

'Promise what?'

Regulus chewed carefully. 'Promise that, no matter what, we'll always have this.'

'What, sandwiches and chocolate?'

'No,' Regulus said with exasperation. 'This. Us. Together. _You_ know.'

Sirius did know, but it was just as hard for him to put it into words.

'Want to play questions?' he asked instead.

'Will you promise me first?' Regulus pressed.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'Why did they have to give me a little _sister_? Look, Goblin, do you want to play or not?'

Regulus scowled, but after a moment, it changed to a grin. 'How long do you think we can go this time?'

'What's our record?'

'Do you think we could break it?'

'Why not?'

'Doesn't Father always say it's important to have goals?'

'Who are we to ignore his sage advice?' Sirius said, nodding. He picked up the chocolate pot and poured them both cups. They toasted their cleverness. Sirius munched another sandwich.

'Can I stay with you tonight?'

'Why?'

Regulus shrugged. 'Remember last time, when Mother said it was easier to quarantine us together when one of us was ill?'

Sirius nodded. 'Does that matter this time?'

'Aren't we pretending to be ill?'

'Doesn't "pretend" mean that we're not really?'

'But what if she comes to check on us?'

'Is that likely?'

'What do you think?'

‘Why should she come all the way to our room?’

'Does it matter?'

'Repetition!' Sirius said, pointing. 'One for me! Is that your real reason, though?'

Regulus crossed his arms. 'Wasn't repeating.'

'I said "does that matter" and then you said, "does it matter." Repetition.'

'Not exactly.'

'Yes, close enough.'

'No, not the same thing!' Regulus shouted.

'Shhhh!' Sirius held up his hand to make sure no one had heard them downstairs. 'All right then. If I retract the point, will you calm down?'

'Do you want the point?'

'Isn't that obvious?'

'Then will you let me stay in your room tonight?'

'Are you saying you'll give me the point if I let you stay?'

'Isn't that what I said?'

'I don't know; is it?'

'Will you or won't you?'

'Why?'

'Repetition!' Regulus cackled. 'Repetition! My point.'

'So it's tied now, then?'

'Does that mean I can stay?'

'Did I say that?'

'No,' Regulus said bitterly. 'Which means it's one to me and _none_ to you, if that's how you're going to be.'

'Statement! Now it's tied.'

Regulus took another sandwich, but said nothing. He turned slightly away.

'Reg?' Sirius asked when his brother had pouted for a few more seconds.

Regulus cast a baleful look over his shoulder.

'Why do you want to stay in my room so badly?'

Regulus took a breath, but held it before answering. 'Do you really want to know?'

'I asked, didn't I?'

'Promise you won't take the mickey?'

'Is it that embarrassing?' Sirius smirked.

Regulus turned away again. Though the device was overtly manipulative, it never failed to make Sirius feel like a prat. He caved.

'Oh, all right, forget I asked. Okay?'

'Statement. Two to one,' Regulus asserted.

Sirius didn't argue. 'Is it...because I'm going to school soon?' 'Soon' was a relative term, since he had only turned eleven a couple months ago.

'I don't want you to go,' Regulus said, suddenly serious and nearly in tears.

'I'll come back at holidays,' Sirius assured him.

'But I'll be alone in between,' Regulus pointed out.

'It'll be fine, you'll see. You'll like it. You'll probably get so you don't want me about, anyway.'

'No, I shan't,' his brother protested.

Sirius could have pointed out that he'd almost prefer to be left alone once in a while, but didn't push for a fight when it was beside the point. 'You say that _now_ , but you'll change your mind when you've the whole playroom to yourself. And then just think: when you come, I'll already have mates in Slytherin and it'll be that much easier for you to fit in with them, too.'

'Promise?'

'Swear. Look, have some chocolate. It'll help.'

He poured fresh cups for them both. They sipped until they had little chocolate mustaches, licked them off, and sent the pot back for more.

Several hours later, the sandwiches were gone, the chocolate cold and the tray set aside, where it had gradually settled to the floor. Kreacher came to collect the tray and stoke the fire. He tucked the covers around both brothers, fast asleep and tangled up in each other in the bed.

As the elf gently moved Regulus' leg under the bedclothes, the boy stirred a bit. 'Young master Regulus must go back to sleep,' Kreacher whispered.

'Kreacher, d'you know any lullabies?' Regulus asked sleepily.

'Kreacher does not,' he answered.

'You can tell stories, though,' Regulus reminded him.

'Kreacher knows some stories. But young master needs his rest.'

'Oh, not tonight. I just meant ... if I needed one.' He looked nervously towards Sirius, who flung an arm over the side of the bed. He looked back, but Kreacher had disappeared, along with the remains of their supper.

'Sirius?' he whispered into the good ear, the one that hadn't been damaged in their illicit duel years ago. 'Sing about the ravens?'

Without waking, his brother hummed a snatch of tune. Regulus dropped his head to the pillow and murmured the verses along with him.

_'There were three ravens on a tree,_  
_Down a down hey down, hey down_  
_They were as black as they might be,_  
_With a down,_  
_The one of them said to his mate,_  
_"Where should we our breakfast take?"_  
_With a down, derry, derry, derry down-a-down.'_

They both sank into sleep before finishing, but still Regulus dreamed of the noble knight with loyal servants, who stood watch over him even in death.


End file.
